


The Sweatshirt

by anonstarbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:30:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonstarbuck/pseuds/anonstarbuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's N.Y. Knicks sweatshirt <br/>Tumblr prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Mulder came back, he realised he was missing a few things. Scully had taken to wearing his watch when he was gone and he never asked for it back. He liked to look at her small wrist and see it there, like an oversized badge of honour. At times he wondered if it felt like a shackle to her. If her loyalty to him was keeping her prisoner from the life she could’ve had.

A life with William, for example. A life that didn’t involve dyeing her hair and changing her name and giving up their child.

When Mulder came back he was missing a son. He was also missing the words to tell her that he could forgive her but that he couldn’t make the tightness in his chest go away. Not in him and not in her. That no matter how fiercely they clung to each other in search of release and comfort, the loss of William would always feel akin to the pain of a phantom limb. 

Of course most things of his were missing. She had taken essentials and had packed like the pro that she was. From his apartment, she had packed his basics, toiletries, his picture with Samantha and a well-worn copy of her Einstein Twin Paradox thesis. She had rolled her eyes and signed it once at his bidding, while he joked that he’d someday sell it for good money: an autographed copy of Dana Scully’s first publication. Imagine that. 

He didn’t have the heart to ask her about his NY Knicks sweatshirt. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted to wear it, but some of his fondest memories were of Scully slipping it over her naked body to pad into the kitchen and brew the coffee. He liked to think back on the times he had put the hood over her head when it was cold, and her face got lost within the depths of the fabric. He had cupped her face and brought his ridiculous nose against her beautiful one. Eskimo kisses for an eskimo girl. 

She pretended that she didn’t know he’d noticed the sweatshirt’s absence. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that when she gave William up, she had swaddled him in that sweatshirt. That she had made the little bundle so he would have something that smelled of his parents. So he would know what team to root for while he was growing up, without them.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes Mulder wishes he knew how to pray. During the eternal drive through dust-filled towns he had watched her while she pretended to sleep. She didn’t move her lips while she did it, her eyes were always closed. She would lean her face against the window and through closed lids she would look up and make her devotions.

Once upon a time, Scully would’ve bowed her head in church pews, or knelt next to her bed. Her time with Mulder had changed that. Now, in their little unremarkable house, he sometimes sees her sitting on the porch, her eyes closed while she converses with the heavens. He doesn’t ask her what father she speaks to. He already knows.

Praying reminds him of wishing on pennies. He spent a small fortune when he was twelve, tossing coins into fountains while he squeezed his eyes shut saying  _Please. Please_. He would envision his sister, smiling and peaceful standing in front of him and when he’d open his eyes, the sharp kick of disappointment was always there. There was always nothing in front of him, except the glint of pennies in the water. Each time, with every coin, he had wanted so badly to believe.

As an adult he had tossed spare change into a couple of D.C. fountains. When Scully was taken, when her sister died, when she got cancer, when she couldn’t have kids. He wondered then as he does now, if praying takes away the heavy guilt. If it brings a kind of absolution or appeasement  that the truth had never quite delivered.

Now, as he sits outside the Van de Kamp house, he’s not sure if he’s trying to still his heart or to urge it to keep beating.

The letters had arrived in robin blue envelopes for better part of a year. The first one had been addressed only to Scully. All of the rest, to both of them.

 

_I know it’s you. I just wanted to tell you that I’m fine. Please don’t write back, it’ll make them sad._

_Love,  
_ _Will_

 

He didn’t know two contradicting emotions could co-exist so strongly at the same time, in the same body. They had held each other and wept.

The letters would come once a month. They’d speak of school and sports. Will never enclosed a picture. He had made the basketball team, but just barely. He wasn’t the tallest of teammates. Mulder had looked at Scully’s petite form and had smiled. He also thought back on the mountainous growth-spurt when he was 12 that had taken him from standing in the front of school pictures to looming lankily from the back. Will was turning 10 in three months, _but of course you know that_ , he had written. Mulder had smiled. _Just wait kid. You’ll be playing power forward in no time._

He had Mulder’s spidery scrawl and Scully’s attention to detail. There were stories of home-runs and birthday parties. He likes to ride his bike, he has pet chickens and he’d named them after famous scientists.

He is almost ready to meet them, if that was ok.

Mulder wondered if this is what it felt like to get your prayers answered.  
When they got a letter in a robin blue envelope with a different hand they were hesitant to open it.

 

_We know he was writing you. Please. You should come, right away._

 

They had flown out immediately. Hadn’t bothered to pack. Mulder sits on the wooden steps and wishes he knew how to pray. Scully is already inside. He is still outside, unable to stop sitting on the wooden steps. He is looking at the chickens. He is looking at the baseball glove near the shed. At the red bicycle leaning against the side of the house. He is not ready to walk in, but he does anyway.

There are other children there, and neighbours, but they part to let him through. The coffin isn’t nearly big enough. No one should be buried in a coffin so small, he thinks. He looks at Scully, and her face is set like marble, and beautiful. She knows all about small coffins, she’s already lost one child. She has lost this one twice. He moves to her and anchors himself with a hand placed on the small of her back.

  
When he looks in, he sees a beautiful boy wearing his NY Knicks sweatshirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to do this, but revenge makes me do ugly, ugly things. I would otherwise NEVER EVER hurt Will.


End file.
